The strain on my arms burned, but my grip held even if my arms trembled. The wood slid under my hands, body swinging once around the bar, holding my weight with legs split. I swung around twice more, launching myself in the air to twist twice and grab the bar. My shoulders took the strain as momentum swung me into a handstand. The door whooshed open. Mat'al strolled in, standing by the door with a dark blue salarian. The bar flexed as my arms held me for another three swings before launching myself off the bar to land on the mat below. My landing stumbled but my balance kept me upright. My head shook the sweat free as my hands reached for the towel and bottle waiting for me. Mat'al approached with a datapad.
"Well, you'll be happy to know the new exercise plan is working as intended," he smiled. His smile grew as he saw my scowl. "With you, everything is a crash course,"
"Of course," I grumbled.
"A present has appeared for you. Not sure how it got through, even though it says I ordered it," he frowned, handing over a small box about 40cm long. The small box pressed into my hands, a curious frown forming. It didn't seem special, so the box found a spot on the ground near the asymmetric bars.
"I'll deal with it later," I puffed. "So, I'm meeting your expectations then?"
"More or less. The psychological training hasn't… quite done to plan," Mat'al sighed. My face flushed as my weight shuffled. "It was only a small congregation,"
"75 people is small congregation?" I gawked. Mat'al raised a brow, straightening my spine.
"Yes, it is," he sighed. "With time and exposure, perhaps we'll get somewhere. Now, I want you cleaned up and packed for tomorrow. We have tip off that is perfect for an outdoor excursion," My hands wrung the towel.
"More geth?" I asked.
"How did you guess?" Mat'al smirked. My answering moan died as a pistol clicked. "We'll be heading to a lovely little planet called Noveria. We have a tip off that Saren and his geth may be in the area," he explained. My gaze narrowed, staring at the salarian before.
"Uh… problem?" I coughed. Mat'al raised a brow. "I uh… promised a friend to not step foot on Noveria. H-He said it was dangerous,"
"Well, your friend is correct. Not dangerous in the combat sense, although with the potential for geth that will change. Noveria is a development planet. It has an infamous reputation for conducting… otherwise illegal research," he shrugged. "Nothing no other species does in underground bunkers on colonies and homeworlds," My lips strained straight. "Don't worry, we'll be safe. The STG has… assets in a company there. We'll get through," he grinned.
"But-" I started. A sharp sting radiated up my leg caused a squeak. My hands grabbed the afflicted area, hobbling on a single leg, gritting my teeth as suppressed curses rose to my tongue. Mat'al chuckled, the salarian beside him watching with a jaw to the floor. After testing the weight baring capacity of my leg, my glare zoned in on Mat'al. Mat'al sheathed the pistol.
"Now, another hour of exercise and then you can continue your little background reading project you have going on. I never took you as a historian," he commented. My face warmed.
"A-Ah, w-well, those who don't know the past are doomed to repeat it," I said, shambling backwards. Mat'al shook his head.
"I shall check up on your progress later. I need to complete the paperwork," he waved a hand, turning to leave. The dark blue salarian looked between us before Mat'al's summon jolted him awake. He sprinted after Mat'al. My scowled burned the door as it closed, the red hologram lighting the door.
The past two weeks had been… an experience. My arms shook out, stretching the lactic acid out as my fingers tapped the omni-tool. The uneven bars disassembled, folding themselves up and sliding along the floor to their place in the wall. On one wall, an array of weights gleaming before me. My hands grabbed the second lightest, kneeling over a bench as I began the reps. After my first evening at the space station, Mat'al had been on my ass every day and night. 2-3 hours of exercise every day, with every third day a break day. When not burning muscle – or, flab in my case – he had me in the shooting range. Mat'al had me fire a shotgun under his guidance and he decided I should never handle a shotgun unless desperate. The assault rifles were better, but he still only recommended it as a last resort. The sniper rifles… well, the bruise on my shoulder still stung. He banned from rifles after throwing the damn thing in surprise, the barrel bending from the impact and angle it crashed into the floor with. We never tried heavy weapons.
On top of all of this, he put me in a classroom with a bunch of new STG members, learning tactics. And the odd bit of chemistry. They were they STG, explosives were all pack and parcel for them. And then there was the anatomy sections. We had to know where to hit to kill, to maim and to minimise damage. When they brought in this… blobby… whale thing about the size of a small dog covered in scales and asked us to cut it open. Well to summarise, mine wasn't dead yet. My screamed drowned out every other sound when a throat full of teeth snapped at me, sprinting from the room as the damn thing wriggled off the desk and flopped on the floor. It caused the class to kick up in surprise. Mat'al chased me for a good 10 minutes, shooting my ankles. After a while, even he realised the air rounds did nothing but aggravate the shock. So, pistol with live ammo in hand, he dragged me back and forced me to put a bullet in it. It only took 5 since it wriggled so much… and I panicked.
Other than my lovely education scheme Mat'al was dragging my unwilling ass through, the galaxy was cut off from me. Mat'al still allowed me to contact people so long as they weren't Alliance or connected to the Alliance. That gave me the opportunity to call Val at some point. Cue three hours of the pair of us ranting and raving about our superiors. When he learned where I was, he was quiet for a time, considering the consequences. He exploded. 'The STG? The ST bloody G? Are you insane!?' he had cried. A smile spread at the memories, remembering how he fretted; me dealing with explosives, me dealing with infiltration, me dealing with scientific research. Ok, that irked me, but he verified it was more weapon development and biological studies worried about. After the whale, he had me there.
There had been no word from the Alliance. They had to know by now that a member of their organisation was missing. Would that be MIA or just plain 'abandoned on shore'? Urh, who knew… but my omni-tool email had malfunctioned. Any messages between Val and me were fine, but anything related to the Alliance or human embassy never made it. So even if an SOS was sent out, Val was my only hope for rescue. Not that that would be necessary. My back pressed into the mat below me, beginning the bicycle crunches. My form had improved, even in two weeks. Sure, the physical differences were non-existent, but my muscles felt stronger, my mood was livelier. Maybe it was the food. Yeah, had to be the food. Either that or the STG had sped up body development and had been secreting pills in my food… fuck, that was something to investigate.
The hour passed, my muscles whining at the strain. When my watch rang to say 'stop', every muscle ceased, content to lie in a puddle of my sweat for a time. Although, when it was time to get up, my skin peeled off the mat below. It sent a shudder down my legs, scrambling up the ladder for a shower. The amenities were small, but to be fair, it was all I was the only one who used them. Once clean, the relief of fresh clothes relaxed the final few muscles. My eyes fell on the package in the middle of the floor, abandoned. A frown formed, clambering down, picking it off the ground before shambling back up. It dropped on the bed, tape tearing off.
Inside was a locked case. Tilting my head to the side, my fingers flicked the clips. My eyes fell on a pistol, the grey and red paint gleaming. A plate on the inside said 'M-6 Carnifex'. The gun eased out of the foam, hands turning it around. It popped out and locked. My hands raised the pistol, peering down the sight. It was bulkier to hold than the Predator but it looked more powerful by the width of the barrel. Inside was another little box, about the size of a ring box. My female instincts kicked in until common sense battered them down, opening the box. Inside was a small, orange coloured square with some metal rectangles. An omni-chip. Curious, it slipped into my omni-tool bracelet. Within seconds, my combat systems lit up, a new icon appearing; a small blast of lightning called 'Overload'. A piece of paper caught my attention. There was a single name on it; 'Valérien Autillin'. So, that's where it came from, tension easing… my legs unfolded me off the bed, taking two strides to the desk. My fingers navigated the interface to the call system, punching in his number. With luck, he still had shore leave until the turians hogging the training field had finished. Although, from previous experience, calling via the turian hierarchy was a pain in the ass…
"Kabalim Avernus Taruian, Turian Cabal Division, speaking," the silver sheened turian before me asked. My shoulders pulled me straight, swallowing.
"G-Good evening, I-I'm trying to get in contact with Cabal Valérien Autillin. Is he available?" I asked. The turian before me rose a brow.
"Are you… family?" he asked. Play along, play along…
"You could say that," I answered. The turian frowned, clicking his mandibles. He tapped at the keyboard under his fingers.
"Very well, what is your name, Miss and we'll get a line through," he said.
"T-Thank you. E-Endellion Shaik," I answered. The turian nodded.
"Please hold," he said, the symbol of the turian Hierarchy blinking onto the screen.
Tension eased out of my system. Val had told me how to play the system to get me access. By now, most of the Turian Cabals believed he had a young sister who was staying with me since his mother was in hospital for the next few months. And with his father away with the army… well, they needed a family friend to deal with. That my call signature was salarian confused them even further. Mat'al had to pull a few strings to falsify my actual reasons for being here. I was a 'diplomat' helping to oversee some new combined work with the salarians. That was the plan for the foreseeable future. The symbol flashed once, informing me it connected. My slumped figure straightened. The image blinked as Val sat before me. He smirked, a mandible bandaged as he leaned back in the chair. A scowl formed as the Carnifex into view. His mandibles flared, exposing more teeth.
"Ah, so my little present arrived," he grinned. My expression flattened.
"How is this a sandwich?" I asked, holding up the gun and the omni-tool. Val's grin only grew.
"Well, you'd be a useless engineer without overload and your Predator was a Predator 2, yes? C'mon Dell, everyone uses the Predator 7 now! To replace that ancient piece of crap with something descent is the same price as a sandwich," he laughed. My arms folded, scowl deepening.
"It isn't that bad!" I said. Val laughed harder. "Hey, at least I don't bang my head on doors," A grin spread on my face as the turian stopped, eyes narrowed with mandibles clamped to his face.
"It was one time!" he snapped.
"Vally the giant, he bangs his head on doors. He never ducks or looks up 'cause he's killed all the brain cells!" I sang. Val flushed purple, quivering. A giggle burst free.
"Hobbit," he glared at me.
"I'm not that short!" I balked.
"Ah, my mistake. You're a leprechaun! You've got the hair to match!" he smirked.
"Just cause my mother is Irish doesn't mean I'm a leprechaun, you little fucker!" I glared. "How do you know this shit anyway? I never told you about human myths!"
"No, but the extranet is there for me. 'How to mock short, ginger humans'," he laughed. My face turned red, a fist clenching at my side as rage blocked my ability to form words.
We ranted about why he wasted money on a pistol. Mat'al would have gotten one for me. It spiralled to petty name calling and prodding of the sore spots. He called me a dwarf, I called him compensating peacock. That sent him into a flurry as he tried to look up what a peacock was. He flustered about how he wasn't trying to compensate for a lack of anything when he found out. My digs continued on that theme. He mocks my height, I mock his precious dangly bits. It seemed to unnerve him anyway, turians and their pride.
It was a welcome distraction before evening. Against my better judgement, telling him about Noveria would not improve the situation. Mat'al and the team – please let there be a team – would keep me safe. Besides, Val didn't need to worry about me. He looked relaxed when we parted ways, to leave him with that to fret about... With the call ended, 10 minutes remained to pack the equipment for Noveria. Mat'al had trained me the use of many things here, including a grappling hook. He said after Feros, he felt sorry for me climbing all the time. The first few times using it, however… well, the bruises on my ass had healed. And the cuts on my arm too. Between the grappling hook ripping itself free and my grip failing, my body had taken a battering.
So, my pack contained the new Carnifex, which would be my spare pistol just in case and the Predator, just to spite Val. The Locust, the grappling hook gauntlet, extra medi-gel, a spare shield module and some spare clothes completed the bundle, just in case. Then it was time to clean the room. Now, under normal circumstances, you would think the future had created technology for making this easier. They had, but it remained lock to me. That left me with a weird futuristic, hovering hoovering across the massive floor. If this room wasn't spotless, Mat'al upped my exercise routine. As you could imagine, that was a good incentive.
"Not finished yet?" Mat'al's called. My heart crashed against my chest, turning as the salarian hovered by the door.
"Almost," I called, moving to finish the last 3 lengths.
"Uh huh. You would be finished had you not chatted with that turian for 3 hours," he commented as we passed. My legs stumbled, a cough escaping.
"It wasn't as long as that… was it?" I asked. Mat'al raised a brow.
"Would you like me to bring in the call tracker?" he asked. My head shook, moving onto the second last length. "Well, since you are done, you can pack for the trip,"
"Done," I said.
"Oh? Guns, medi-gel, spare shields, grappling system – which we will use – spare clothes, extra heat sinks, binoculars, geth core belt?" he asked. A flush rose at the list.
"M-Most of that," I said.
"Then I suggest you pack the rest. We move in 5," Mat'al said. My teeth grit as my chores finished, tossing the hoover back in the cubby hole in the wall. My hands grabbed the bag, throwing in a few heat sinks, the binoculars and that damned belt. The bag slung my back as Mat'al waited.
We abandoned the room behind, striding towards the ship dock. Mat'al's training meant I never got a chance to see the space station. Only the white walls on my way to the dining room and classroom and my room. Some fresh air was welcome after week after week of this. The docking bay was soon above us, the temperature change caused goose bumps along my arms. The mass effect field protecting the bay didn't keep the temperature too well. A ship waited a ways off the station. The ship reminded me of a shuttle cock, only the wings disconnected from each other and only a loop swinging out over the top of the ship.
We mounted the platform towards the shuttle. A small team of 4 salarians already waited inside. I stepped inside, taking a seat as Mat'al pulled the door closed. The shuttle lifted off, scuttling free from the hula-hoop station. The cargo door of the ship lowered, allowing the shuttle to fly inside. Once docked, the doors opened. At least my arse wouldn't be on a hard seat for the next few hours! We trotted off the shuttle, opening into a silvery cargo hold, a hard edge anywhere on the computers and consoles littering the space. We moved to the elevator, again round.
The CIC was lit up as a maze of towering holograms, all controlled by a raised platform in the middle of the CIC. Unlike everything else, the walls were dark as to see the holograms better. The air electrified, the airs standing on my arm as salarians trotted on their walk. My gaze was hypnotised by the brilliant orange displays. Mat'al approached a silvery green salarian in the middle of the room.
"Captain Sherna, we're ready to leave," Mat'al saluted.
"Excellent. I hope this protégé of yours in half as good as you think," she uttered as she flicked a hand towards to cockpit. The engines hummed.
"She is still green, but her potential is there," Mat'al assured, turning towards the cockpit. "I'll keep her right," he smirked at me. A cold shiver ran down my knees. Oh… that was my stomach at my feet. This would be a fun trip. Fuck…